all the king's horses
by CuddlyCookie1360
Summary: It was a silly thought. One part of his title dictated his entire worth? At six years old, he would've quietly agreed. At fifteen, he laughed at the prospect.


_I knock the ice from my bones_

_Try not to feel the cold_

It was raining; not a light drizzle, but a steady downpour that seeped through his clothes within the first seconds of being outside. He should've worn a raincoat, he knew he should've, but the cold felt _good_. He was shivering, shaking so _hard, _but it was fine. He was fine. The numbness of his heart didn't hurt so much when the rest of his body was numb too.

He sat underneath a tree, rain dripping down through the gaps in the sickeningly green leaves. His knees were pulled up to his chest, and his scarf was wrapped tightly around his neck, so tightly his breathing was becoming a bit restricted. The wind nipped at his clothes, his jacket wasn't taut enough, the mud had probably ruined his pants and he'd be reprimanded for it later, but he still sat there.

Seconds ticked by. Minutes ticked by.

They'd be looking for him soon. They probably were now. The king would scold him later about getting a cold, Claudia would laugh and say he was more dramatic than her, and Soren would say he had nothing to be sad about. They were all right_._

His life was good. Great, even. He lived in a huge castle with a little too much room that sometimes it felt empty. He was fed top quality meals that he didn't deserve to eat. He was surrounded by people who only wanted to better him, but he couldn't make sense of their lessons. The only problem was him.

_Caught in the thought of that time_

_When everything was fine, everything was mine_

While most sought after power, or wealth, the only thing Callum sought was control. His addiction to choice in his life was probably unhealthy, but his fingers itched to be pulling strings. He had an affinity for finding the things he could sway his direction, which buttons to press to get just what he wanted, which battles to fight in order to win the war.

His obsession for control was what made the powerless moments more powerful.

Callum wished for a time machine. He'd go back and fix all the mistakes that left him wallowing in regret; like how he'd yelled at his little brother that morning because too many little things had added up and he was a ticking time bomb that Ezran happened to be standing next to, or how he'd avoided his mother her entire last week because he thought she was contagious and he hated being sick, maybe even something as simple as him eating one jelly tart too many and given himself a stomachache the other night.

It took way too much effort to remember a time before he worried so much. Every single action, every word he thought or said now affected him, but at some point, he'd been able to gloss over them like they were just little ripples in a whole big pond. The easy days were long behind him now, and sure, someone else most likely remembered them, but for Callum, they were buried so deep he couldn't imagine the feeling if he tried.

Some things he couldn't fix. Some things he could fix, but he just didn't have the skill to, so all he could do was stand by idly while he watched his world burn.

_Everything was fine, everything was mine_

Ezran was an intelligent child, but he still liked to believe that tape could solve anything. You broke one of the scary Lord Viren's potion bottles? Tape the pieces together! You cut yourself on a slip of paper while digging around for the Katolis map assignment due that day? There was a simple solution, get a bandaid!

He couldn't tape his brother back together if he tried.

_All the king's horses and all the king's men_

_Couldn't put me back together again_

Oh, they tried. They tried so hard, but it wasn't enough.

The king had hired the most well trained, best reviewed psychiatrists, but Callum refused to help himself. He didn't know why, perhaps it was stubbornness, or even his stupidity. He was far too deep into a hole he'd dug himself, and he'd thrown out the ladder because he thought he wouldn't need it. He'd given up.

They pushed him. They should've pushed harder.

_All the king's horses and all the king's men_

_Couldn't put me back together again_

He was drawing his mother again.

Callum wasn't surprised. Drawing her had become a sort of nervous tick for him, and considering he was nervous almost all of the time, most of the pages in his sketchbook were pictures of her.

Back at the castle, whenever Callum wanted to see his mom he could walk down to her statue and stay there for as long as he pleased. But he wasn't at the castle now, and even when he was, half the time he was caught in some lesson he couldn't leave. So he turned to drawing her himself, that way he'd never forget her.

That night however, sat in the cave while a storm raged outside, his elven friend out searching for food, and his little brother slowly reheating after nearly drowning and freezing to death, he couldn't sketch anything quite right. His hands were shaking, his breathing was quick and short, and he caught himself reaching for his scarf multiple times. Nearly losing Ezran had made his feelings resurface, and he realized that maybe... maybe he hadn't gotten rid of them after all.

_Run with my hands on my eyes_

_Blind, but I'm still alive_

When his mother had died, King Harrow said she was gone.

Perhaps it was an attempt to spare his young mind from the harsh reality. He had been six years old at the time; death wasn't a concept he could fully comprehend. King Harrow had at least tried to give an explanation. It was a simple one, but it was better than the adults around him sugarcoating it and pitying him.

She was sugarcoating it too. Claudia said King Harrow was "gone." Obviously by then he was old enough to know what she meant, even if he tried to deny it. She'd put her hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eyes and told him. She cried and mourned and _lied_ to him. She'd hadn't bothered to give him a story. He didn't need one.

He'd known. Somewhere deep down, buried behind layers and layers of false hope, Callum had known. But he'd chosen to deny it for as long as he could. If he didn't think about it, he wouldn't have to acknowledge it, and if he didn't acknowledge it, it didn't have to be true. That wasn't the best way of thinking, but it certainly wasn't the worst.

Now the dam had burst open, and all the emotions he'd held back for _so long_ came rushing back. He didn't try to stop them. He didn't think he could.

King Harrow wasn't "gone." Gone meant he still existed and just wasn't present anymore. Gone meant there was a possibility, even if it were slim, of getting him back.

No, King Harrow was dead_._

His _dad _was _dead._

His _mom _was _dead._

His _actual dad _was _dead._

Callum cried.

_Free to go back on my own_

_But is it still a home when you're all alone_

He said he'd go back to Ezran. He had said- no, _promised_ he'd return to Katolis as soon as Zym was back with his mother, promised him that he wouldn't leave the young King alone, wouldn't leave him for dead in the world of politics neither of them understood. As he'd embraced his brother for the final time for a while he'd _promised_.

Then Rayla brought him to Xadia, and he could _feel_ the magic in the air, in his bones, in every breath he took. He could feel it in his veins, injected like a medicine saving a dying man. The energy held him in the palm of its hand and he was desperate to learn everything he could about magic, to chase it like a dog, absorb it like a sponge, drown in it like he'd drowned in his dream only a day ago.

But if he wanted to study magic further, he would have to stay in Xadia, which meant he'd have to leave Ezran. He'd have to go back on his promise.

Callum had never broken a promise before.

_Is it still a home when you're all alone_

His promise to Ezran would be the first.

_All the king's horses and all the king's men_

_Couldn't put me back together again_

Rayla had left him too.

As much as they both hated it, their lives split in different directions. Rayla had come to the realization that she wanted to continue to protect Zym, though it had taken some time to accept the fact that she would be taking on the same role as her parents had done. Callum had been there to assure her that it was her decision, her life, and her parents didn't have to influence her choice if she didn't want them to.

Callum's path, however, took him in the complete opposite direction. He'd found an archmage willing to tutor him, and he'd jumped at the opportunity. The problem was they'd be going _away_ from the border, while Rayla would be going _towards_.

They tried to ignore that fact, and the pair continued with the rest of their week like normal. But the time for them to leave came, and needless to say, both of them were with each other until the last possible second.

_"Alone."_

That was the word for how he felt.

_All the king's horses and all the king's men_

_Couldn't put me back together again_

Learning magic was _hard_.

Sure, once he got the rune and incantation down, he could perform most of the spells near flawlessly, but memorizing the incantation took _ages_.

Callum had prided himself on his photographic memory; it was one of his greatest (_only_) strengths. But that didn't matter when words were involved too. He'd always had trouble with languages in the past, but magic took it to a whole other level.

Not that he wasn't used to doing awful in his classes. His performance in his lessons back at the castle (_the castle he was supposed to be with Ezran in_) had been dreadful. It was no wonder all the guards whispered about how unfit for the role of a prince he was behind his back.

No, the fact that he was struggling to learn some concepts didn't bother him, it was the fact that he'd been _good_ at magic. Rayla had said he had a natural aptitude for the craft, and that had boosted his confidence tenfold. Now, he couldn't remember pronunciations he'd learnt five minutes ago.

He scoffed. He'd actually thought magic would be something he'd be _good_ at?

How naive.

_All the king's horses and all the king's men_

_Couldn't put me back together again_

Callum realized he was wrong one day.

Nothing had triggered it. No one had said anything. He'd been sitting on the top of a hill when he'd thought _'my way of thinking is probably different to most people's.'_

He figured he'd never know why his mentality was unlike others. If he could make a guess, he'd said it was from his self-esteem issues that stemmed from everyone around him doubting his abilities. He'd had it drilled into his head at a young age that he was the _step_-prince and nothing more. He was only royalty by law, not blood, which somehow made his existence in the palace mean less than others.

It was a silly thought. One part of his title dictated his entire worth?

At six years old, he would've quietly agreed.

At fifteen, he laughed at the prospect.

_All the king's horses and all the king's men_

_Couldn't put me back together again_

He'd gone to a diplomatic meeting with his tutor one time. "It will be fun," he'd been told.

Right.

As his tutor left to go speak to some of the higher ups, an elf _('sunfire,' he presumed, judging by the dark skin and defining golden marks) _had approached him. They chatted for a bit, before his reason for being there had been brought up.

Callum had simply explained that he was with his magic tutor. The elf nearly spit out his drink.

_"A human? Becoming a primal mage?"_ The elf had the audacity to laugh right in front of his face. _"You must be joking."_

He later prided himself on how he managed to keep his calm, a miracle, really.

_There is a reason I'm still standing_

_I never knew if I'd be landing_

He kept learning anyways. Even as the stares and whispers of elfs grew, even as he occasionally mixed up runes and incantations, even as he made many mistakes and faltered when he wasn't quite sure if he was casting the spell correctly, he still pushed on. Xadia had opened its college to humans willing to learn primal magic, as per a peace treaty _(way to go Ezran)_, and Callum was determined to be the first human to graduate. It would be a tedious task, but Callum's most definable trait was his unwavering determination.

_(Rayla had said it was just him being stubborn. They'd squabbled about it for ages.)_

_And I will run fast, outlast_

_Everyone that said no…_

_"You can't do magic," _they'd said.

_"Humans can only perform dark magic,"_ they'd said.

_"Primal magic is a concept you'll never comprehend,"_ they'd said.

A year after he'd started training, he stood before the Xadia Council of Magic, becoming an official archmage.

_All the king's horses and all the king's men_

_Couldn't put me back together again_

_Breathe in, breathe out._

The guard who saw him first gasped. The second got the attention of the third, and his appearance set off a chain reaction. He was led through the gleaming gates and escorted through the city, being sure to keep his hood on until he reached the castle.

He met Ezran halfway up the steps to the courtyard. They'd crashed into each other and fell in a heap, but the grime on the cobblestone wasn't a concern to either of them as they focused on the feeling of each other's presence.

_All the king's horses and all the king's men_

_Couldn't put me back together again_

Rayla's reaction went pretty much the same, except she'd yelled at him before tackling him to the ground. He didn't remember what she had said, opting to not linger on her words and focus on _her_. His best friend, the one who he may not have seen for ages, but he'd never forgotten. He doubted he could forget Rayla even if he tried.

_All the king's horses and all the king's men_

_Couldn't put me back together again_

The rain was always cold, that much was consistent.

Other than that, it was everchanging depending on the conditions. Sometimes it fell as graceful as snow, washing his emotions away _('erosion,' he'd compared it to once). _Other times, it pounded against the ground, unmerciful, it's only goal to tear him apart.

He often compared himself to the rain. He changed with the tide, never staying the same for too long. He could be shy and timid in one situation, and loud and confident in the next. He chose not to dwell on those thoughts anymore. They were facts now, things that wouldn't change, like him and the rain.

_All the king's horses and all the king's men_

_Couldn't put me back together again_

Yes, all the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put him back together again.

The only one who could do that was himself.


End file.
